A World of Hurt: Belonging
by Alipeeps
Summary: Part of a series of Shep whumpy tag fics to Season 3 eps. Sateda tag. SPOILERS FOR SATEDA! Sheppard’s heart was pounding in his chest as he ran back from the gate .... NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_Part of the "A World of Hurt" series – an ongoing, only slightly AU series of whumpy tag fics to the each of the Season 3 episodes. By hook or by crook I will work some Shep whump into every episode.. if TPTB won't do it, then I'll just have to do it myself :) These stories are designed to fit in with the canon of Season 3 – imagine, if you will, that they take place "off-screen" before, during or after the episode, as appropriate._

_Fourth fic in the series – this is the tag for Sateda. An awesome ep with a bit of Sheppy whumpage thrown in too which I am only slightly expanding on in this piece. This fic is intended to focus not just on the physical but also on the emotional whumpage.. now that we have some hint of Shep's emotions where his team is concerned! There will be approx. one more chapter to this._

_Please read and review._

_**SPOILERS FOR SATEDA!

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Sheppard's heart was pounding in his chest as he ran back from the gate – his pulse racing with a mixture of exertion and fear as he sprinted back to find Ronon and Teyla. He'd hated having to split the team but McKay had been injured and unable to walk unaided – his first priority had had to be to get the wounded back to safety; to get Rodney to the gate. And so he'd ran, his shoulder under McKay's arm supporting most of the scientist's weight, dragging the floundering man along with him at every step. In doing so, he'd left Ronon and Teyla pinned down by angry villagers, covering his six while he helped Rodney. And now he'd left Rodney alone while he raced back to help the rest of his team. But Rodney would be fine; he'd go through the gate and he'd be fine. John kept telling himself that, the words reverberating in his head even as his feet pounded on the forest floor.

He stumbled to a halt in a seemingly empty clearing, confused for a moment as he looked in vain for his team. This was where he'd left them, he was sure. A flash of dark colour caught his eye and his heart dropped like a stone as he realised it was Teyla; his team mate lying crumpled at the foot of a tree, still and unmoving. Before he had time to do more than form a fervent hope that she was okay, before he could even take a step towards her, he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his arm, followed immediately by a rapid, spreading numbness.

Even as he looked down at the thin sliver of dart sticking out of his arm, the sharp tip penetrating his thick leather jacket and the shirt beneath to pierce his flesh, he could feel the numbness spreading, his limbs growing heavy and unresponsive. He had just enough time to realise what was happening and mutter a heartfelt "Oh, crap," before his legs wobbled and gave out on him and he slumped slowly to his knees. He was finding it hard to breathe, his muscles failing, refusing to respond to his commands. His mind grew fogged and unclear, a heavy, sleepy feeling settling over him. His last coherent thought as he toppled sideways was that at least this meant that Teyla and Ronon were probably still alive. He didn't feel it when he hit the ground, his body sprawling limply on the forest floor.

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Waking up was hell and things didn't really get much better after that; John came back to himself slumped uncomfortably in a corner of a crude wood-pole cage. He awoke to a litany of aches and pains and an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Whatever drug these people had used on him, it was incredibly fast-acting and had left him feeling oddly exhausted, his muscles still a little weak and shaky. He grimaced slightly as he opened his eyes, choosing not to move too much just yet as he took in his surroundings, relieved to find Teyla sitting nearby and Ronon staring out through the bars of their impromptu prison, rigid tension evident in every line of the Satedan's pose. John wondered briefly if Rodney had made it through the gate okay.

Sheppard's neck ached from his uncomfortable posture and he tried to shift himself to a more comfortable position as he forced a cheerfulness he didn't feel into his voice. His words of comfort to Ronon fell on deaf ears and the look on Teyla's face said more than her words about the success of her own attempts to console the runner. He couldn't say he was exactly surprised by Ronon's mood and, with a suppressed groan, he clambered a little unsteadily to his feet, surprised at how shaky he felt. The cage was open to the elements and a thin layer of snow still dotted the ground around the village; John shivered a little, glad of the protection afforded by his leather jacket. Ronon on the other hand, stripped of his long coat and left in just his sleeveless tunic, seemed oblivious to the cold.

Sheppard was a little stunned by Ronon's description of his previous visit to the village – the runner had never really spoken much of his years of being hunted by the Wraith and hearing the stark reality of what his friend had lived through filled John with a welter of conflicting emotions; amazement that Ronon had survived as long as he had, anger at the Wraith for the torment they had inflicted and a fierce gladness that he had been able to rescue his friend from that life. How he was going to rescue Ronon, or any of them for that matter, from this situation however, was still a matter of debate.

It became quickly apparent that the villagers weren't going to listen to reason and the prospect of being Wraith food in the near future was not exactly a pleasant thought. Sheppard was still feeling just a little woozy from the knockout drug and, no matter how he tried to think of a way out of this mess, he was coming up desperately short on options. And then Ronon took matters into his own hands and John was left scrambling to catch up, the air thick with tension as he tried to talk both Ronon and the villagers out of doing anything stupid. He wasn't entirely joking when he said he was more worried about them shooting him and Teyla. This day was turning into an emotional rollercoaster of disastrous proportions – within moments he went from holding his breath in expectation of sudden violence, to relief when Ronon suddenly let the villager go, to being utterly blindsided when Ronon unhesitatingly held the knife to his own throat.

Nothing he or Teyla could say, neither direct orders nor cajoling, would make Ronon put the knife down, would convince him that what happened to the village in the past was not his fault. Sheppard was starting to feel lost, the situation spiralling way out of his control. He worked to control his frustration and his fear but couldn't help something like despair from washing through him as Ronon looked at his team mates and, in a breaking voice he had thought never to hear from the warrior, told the villagers they were "good people" and demanded they let them go. John realised with a sinking heart that Ronon had given up on himself; he knew there was no way out for him and he was willing to sacrifice himself, to take his own life if necessary, to at least save the lives of his friends.

Sheppard wanted more than anything to struggle, to fight back, when hands grabbed at his jacket and pulled him bodily from the cell. But he couldn't. As much as he wanted to fight, wanted to save Ronon, there was nothing they could do right now. The village leader's warning was clear; resist and you will be killed. They were unarmed and vastly outnumbered and with traces of the powerful sedative still in his bloodstream, Sheppard was not feeling in any fit condition for hand to hand fighting. He would not – could not – make light of Ronon's sacrifice by getting them killed anyway. John couldn't tear his gaze from the sight of Ronon, his face twisted with emotion, holding the vicious knife tight to his own throat as the villagers dragged Sheppard backwards from the cell.

He and Teyla were shoved roughly out into the street, villagers surrounding them, firm hands on his shoulders and arms forcing him to walk forward. He twisted his body to look back over his shoulder as the villagers dragged him away, his throat tight with anger and fear as he saw Ronon lower the knife and heard the distinctive "phut" of a drugged dart finding its mark. The last thing he saw before he was roughly pulled away was Ronon drop, the Satedan simply folding up as the powerful drug took effect, crumpling him bonelessly to the ground.

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_TBC…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Finally.. I have finished this tag! This one fought me every step of the way.. which is odd because I loved the episode! Am not entirely happy with how chapter 1 turned out and will probably rewrite it a little at some point… but for the moment, this tag is done._

_On to the next one!_

_All reviews/thoughts/feedback welcome, as ever. :)

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The walk back to the gate was the longest of John's life. Armed villagers escorted them every step of the way, their eyes hard as they kept their weapons pointed at John and Teyla, determined to make sure these strangers actually left their world. John was silent during the walk, his attention focused internally as he seethed with frustration at their predicament. He wanted to go back to the village and get Ronon out of that damned cage, he wanted to _run_ for the goddamn gate and come back with an army, he wanted.. to do _something_. But he had to accept the reality of their predicament; they were unarmed and greatly outnumbered. If he tried anything he would only succeed in getting himself and his friends dead. The feeling of being utterly helpless and out of control of the situation did not sit easy with him. He was filled with a building impatience, thin fingers of dread curling around his spine at the knowledge that the Wraith were on the way, that every passing moment was another step towards death and disaster. His fingers itched with the need to do something, to take action, but all he could do was keep walking, his body rigid with tension, ignoring the occasional over-enthusiastic shove from their captors.

Without even looking, he was acutely aware of Teyla's eyes on him as they walked. He knew she felt the same frustration and fear that he did, knew she was just as worried for Ronon.. and maybe even for himself. He was aware that he was probably freaking her out a little right now. It wasn't like him to be this… this serious. Her gaze was like a weight on his shoulders, a pressure that he just couldn't deal with right now. He was burning up inside; focused, angry, intense, hovering on the edges of losing his precious control. This was not a side of him that his team often saw.

It wasn't that John didn't take things seriously; on the contrary, he took things very seriously, more so than anyone probably realised. His easy-going, cheerful attitude was simply a natural part of his personality.. and for the most part he really _was_ easy-going and cheerful. But he was also cynical enough to recognise that, as a personality trait, it was usefully disarming.. as not a few people had found out to their misfortune when they had underestimated the seemingly laid-back pilot. He was also self-aware enough to know that his careless charm was something of a habitual defence mechanism. He was not a man who found it easy to share his emotions, his fears and his hopes. He was naturally outgoing and found it easy to get along with just about anybody, on a superficial level, but it was rare he formed a deep bond with anyone. And when he did…

He'd surprised himself with the depth of the friendships he had made here in Pegasus. He supposed it had something to do with their isolation; all of them living in close quarters, standing together against a powerful and terrifying enemy, relying on each other on a daily basis. Whatever the reason.. his team, Carson, Elizabeth… they'd become like family to him. He'd never told them that, of course; verbalising something like that just wasn't in his nature. It felt too exposed, too akin to dragging his feelings out into the light of day to be pored over and examined, questioned, judged. So he laughed and joked and teased and bickered and never spoke a word of how much he cared for these people. He kinda hoped they somehow knew anyway, just went with the flow and, like him, left such things unspoken; that they in some way saw beyond his laid-back attitude and understood those feelings without him ever having to express them. He wondered now if that were the case, if Teyla had any kind of understanding of the tight fury that twisted his stomach at being forced to just walk away and leave Ronon in the hands of these people.

He felt a mixture of relief and despair as the forest thinned and they came into view of the stargate, his footsteps faltering as he faced the reality of leaving this world without Ronon. Leaving his team mate in the hands of the enemy… with the Wraith on the way. He stumbled as a villager shoved him roughly and turned to glare at the man, his fists clenching subconsciously.

"John…" He was vaguely aware of the warning note in Teyla's softly murmured admonishment.

The villager's smug expression faltered at whatever he saw in John's eyes and the man took a nervous step backwards, raising his crossbow warily. John's voice was tight, carefully controlled, his eyes never leaving the villager's as he spoke, "Dial the gate, Teyla." The motley group of villagers watched warily as, after a moment's hesitation, Teyla reluctantly turned and jogged the short distance to the DHD. No-one followed her, the men keeping their attention on John, more weapons being raised and trained on him as the air thrummed with increasing tension. Not a word was spoken and John didn't move so much as an inch but the villager he faced struggled to maintain eye contact and unconsciously shuffled nearer to his compatriots.

The silence was broken by the whoosh of the expanding event horizon.

For a long moment nobody moved.

"John?" Teyla spoke calmly, carefully, as though to a spooked animal that might at any moment break and run.. or bare its teeth and fight.

With a last, long look at the group of nervously defiant villagers, John turned wordlessly and strode to the gate; their weapons tracked his progress but the men themselves hung back, letting him walk away. He chose to ignore the question in Teyla's eyes as he caught up to her; he was in no mood right now to explain what she saw as his out of character behaviour. He would be lying if he said he hadn't been tempted – sorely tempted – to say something, _do_ something to try and make the stubborn fools see sense but deep down he knew any attempt would be a waste of his time.. and more than likely end up with people getting hurt.

He looked back once, just as he stepped through the event horizon, and saw their escort still hovering at the edge of the forest, their weapons still raised, their expressions distrusting. He took bitter comfort in the fact that his little display had kept them far enough away from the gate that they could not read the glowing address on the DHD but he couldn't help but be bothered by their persistence. He wondered if they would still be waiting there when he and his men came back through the gate - because there was no doubt that he _was_ coming back, just as soon as he could get his hands on some weapons. His last, sombre thought as the wormhole swallowed him up was to wonder if the motley group of men, if _anyone_, would even still be alive by the time he got back.

He didn't waste time or words on their arrival back in Atlantis, issuing orders to his men, shrugging on a tac vest even as he shortly briefed Elizabeth on events, leaving it to Teyla to fill in the details. Relief momentarily eased the tight, angry feeling in his gut as he found that McKay had made it back safely but he found it an effort to keep up his usual calm façade, finding himself inwardly fuming at every wasted second as his strike force quickly assembled, having to forcibly bite down on his impatience and resist the urge to snap at his friends. He was aware of Teyla watching him, her gaze patient and considering, and was starting to suspect that maybe she did understand after all.

They arrived back on the planet to an unguarded stargate and John felt the beginnings of a hollow ache in his chest.

He pushed his men hard, setting a quick pace at the head of the team, ruthlessly ignoring the lingering effects of the tranquilliser that left his muscles weary and aching. His heart was in his mouth as they jogged along the forest paths, trying to ignore what his heart already knew to be true: they were too late.

They smelt the smoke before they reached the village.

Fire and smoke and destruction; bodies, withered and drained, burnt and broken, littered the muddy, frozen streets. The empty feeling in his chest solidified into a cold, icy lump that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. They were too late. The Wraith had come and Ronon was gone. He was too late to save his friend. He'd done his best, had come back as fast as he could, but it was still too late. Too damn late.

He gazed around him at the burning, destroyed village and struggled to find sympathy in his heart for the dead and culled; they'd brought this upon themselves, had sacrificed his friend and destroyed themselves in the process. His anger was cold now, a spreading numbness that had nothing to do with the chill in the air, the snow on the ground. A feeling of hopelessness warred with his determination to fight this; he would not give up, would never give up on his friend, not until or unless he knew for certain that all was lost. And yet… and yet, it was a big, empty galaxy out there.. with a thousand different worlds where a man could be hunted to his death.

When John looked at Teyla he saw in her eyes a reflection of his own pain, an acknowledgement of the hollowness he felt inside, and in that moment he knew that she _did_ understand. She knew. She looked him in the eye and gave voice to the words that choked in his throat.

"We'll find him."

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_Fin._


End file.
